Perfection
by usakeh
Summary: A young Tom Marvolo Riddle has a conversation with Hermione Granger and the two find that they are more similar than they might want to admit.


**_Perfection_**

Hermione had never told anybody about it. It wasn't that she was frightened, or ashamed, or even intentionally keeping it a secret; she had merely had no cause to mention it. Besides, it would undoubtedly have sounded mad had she tried to explain it. It defied logic that she should have been able to see him spiral out of the diary as she slept; it was still more unreasonable that she should have followed him back into the book's dry, dusty pages. Despite her insistence that it wasn't possible, however, the memory of the event had plagued her for weeks; for months afterward she found herself repeating his words in her mind. She had determined that she did not find him attractive; no, it was something else, something about the way he spoke, so smoothly and securely, every point made so perfectly compelling. Yes, that was it: perfectly…

* * *

"Perfection." Hermione frowned, watching as Tom carefully rearranged a stack of books on the table.

"Is that really what you want?" She shook her head, raising an eyebrow inquiringly. Tom smirked.

"As if your aspirations are any different. We have merely chosen different methods. The goal is the same." He spoke calmly, confidently, his black eyes following her every movement.

"The difference goes further than that," Hermione said sharply. "You believe that anything is justified. I do not."

"Only because you believe it would be forfeiting. Gaining an unfair advantage You could transcend it, you know – that silly sense of 'fair play.' It limits you, binds you back to competing with the crowds. By the time you truly find what you are searching for you shall be competing only with yourself." Hermione shifted slightly in her seat, feeling as though Tom were approaching her despite his stillness in the seat across the room. He did not need to move, of course; the power he projected was enough.

"You are also incredibly arrogant. I am not," she snapped back after a pause, her eyes narrowing.

"There is a difference between overconfidence and a correct appraisal of ability. I am careful to stay on the side of the latter."

"You are giving yourself the ability to draw conclusions about my character after having known me for all of five minutes? Right, then." Hermione stared back at him, her face mirroring the boy's trademark sardonic smirk.

"Oh, Hermione. I have known you for far longer than that. That introduction was merely a formality. I should not have wished you to feel ill at ease."

"How considerate of you. I can see how you conned the haughtiest purebloods into doing your dirty work for you, Tom. Such consideration and charm." Hermione stopped short, realizing her tone, too, was beginning to eerily mirror Tom's own. It was almost as if his aura had spread through the room and settled over her until her every action was no more than a shadowy imitation of his own. Tom cast a sly smile her way, instantly picking up on her discomfort.

"This visit is proving just as interesting as I imagined it would be. You have more than lived up to my expectations." Hermione looked down towards the ground. "Do not feel ashamed of yourself for enjoying the compliment. It must be rare, after all, that such things are said to you by an equal."

"Now that I won't buy," Hermione replied matter-of-factly. "I fell for the first one but I won't for a minute believe that you consider me an equal." Tom shook his head, his eyes brimming over with mirth.

"Alas, you know me too well." Tom paused. "I am indeed your superior. But it need not be so. You could easily free yourself from the flimsy ties that bind you to the mundane, the mediocre. You know it just as well as I do."

"Were you to really consider me a potential equal you would see me as a threat. I do not see you taking well to having minions who refuse to be manipulated." Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, I do know you quite well, Tom Riddle. But I don't know if that's much of an achievement on my part." To her surprise Hermione got to her feet and strode over to the black-haired boy, picking up the books on the table beside him as she spoke. "You're pretty easy to sum up, actually. Tom Marvolo Riddle. Poor but brilliant–"

"–parentless but so brave," Tom continued ironically.

" School Prefect–"

"–model student."

"And future Dark Lord." Hermione placed the last book back on the table and watched as Tom carefully rearranged them. "Or, as a Muggle psychologist might say, a troubled teenager with obsessive-compulsive and homicidal tendencies plagued by perfectionism and delusions of grandeur." This time the boy actually laughed aloud. It was a cold, harsh sound – closer to a cough than a chuckle – but was a laugh nonetheless.

"And what of Hermione Granger?" Tom paused dramatically. "Hermione Granger, the smart, studious Gryffindor, chattering cheerfully with her little friends and then staying up late every night bent over her books. Is that right, Hermione? Or are you the girl who stays up all night staring out the window into the Forbidden Forest, wanting nothing more in the world than to be extraordinary." Tom's eyes glittered. "You can see the possibilities; I know it just as well as you do. You are one of the few lucky enough to have any sort of perception of what true perfection is." He took the books out of the pile one by one and stacked them up again, aligning the corners carefully. "I am not attempting to drive you to the Dark side," he continued sarcastically. "I merely shall find it a shame to see such potential go to waste."

"Potential for what? Potential for causing death and destruction? Potential for ruining innocent lives in some insane quest of immortality and – and some strange aesthetic ideal? Thanks, but no thanks. I think I'll pass."

Before the girl could even gasp, Tom sprung out of his seat, suddenly knocking the pile of books to the floor and shattering the windowpane with a bolt of green light. The window cracked but remained unbroken, carefully patterned rings spreading out towards its edges as if it had been created that way. Her breathing quick and shallow, Hermione bent down and began to shakily pick up the books, eager to do anything to keep from meeting Tom's gaze. But in another second he squatted down beside her and began taking the books out of her hands.

"Not like that," he commented, putting them back in order. "See the pattern?" He pointed to the now neatly aligned titles, weaving a web from one word to the other. "There, there, there – and there." His half-smile reappeared, this time reflecting genuine satisfaction. "My work here is done." With a flick of the wrist the boy made the glass fade out fully and stepped up to the window. "I am sure we shall meet again."

"What are you–"

"Goodbye, Hermione," Tom replied, leaned backwards – and vanished into thin air.


End file.
